


The Things We Leave Behind

by Systemic



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Hospital Setting, Post-Canon, Surgery, Trans Nishinoya Yuu, this made me real fuckin emotional, top surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29290197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Systemic/pseuds/Systemic
Summary: Kinoshita will always, always show up for his friends, even if it means sitting on a plane for eight hours.
Relationships: Kinoshita Hisashi & Nishinoya Yuu
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	The Things We Leave Behind

**Author's Note:**

> Happy HQ Trans Week!! Here is my seventh and final entry for the prompt 'Euphoria.' 
> 
> I'm a day late, but I really, really wanted to get this one right. I hope you enjoy. :3
> 
> cw for hospital setting and a person waking up from anesthesia.

Thailand, 2019. 

Any quick search on the net showed him a host of things he wanted to go see, from pristine national parks to the Grand Palace in Bangkok, but if anyone were to ask Kinoshita, he would tell them that there was exactly one reason for his trip. 

It is for this reason that he sat on a plane for almost eight hours, even though he hates flying. It’s why he insisted on paying for the Air BnB. It’s why he didn’t hesitate to spend his New Year’s bonus and why Nishinoya couldn’t get the question all the way out of his mouth on their Skype call three months ago before his old friend was booking his flight. It was why he took three weeks away from work, cashed in on his paid time off and asked Narita to take care of his cats. 

Hisashi sits in a small room lit by harsh fluorescent. There’s a book on the seat beside his and he meant to read it, really he did, but he can’t process the words past the overpowering scent of disinfectant all around him, so he’s taken to leaning his forehead into his clasped hands and simply _waiting._ He did all the necessary reading beforehand - he wasn’t about to leave that until the last second - and made sure he packed as much soda-flavored candy into his luggage as he could fit before coming anywhere near the Tokyo airport. At this point all he can do is… wait, so he does. He sits and stands and paces and sits again, running his hands through his hair, and when the 154th minute is almost up, the door opens. 

A woman in scrubs leads him down a short hallway that gleams under the stabbing lights and he follows maybe a little too closely, too excited or nervous or both to keep his usual distance. His knuckles turn white where he grips hard at the edge of his book of folktales and when she stops, he has to remind himself to breathe. The sound of beeping hospital machinery fades into the background as she draws aside the curtain and he sees Nishinoya, his head lolled to one side in near-unconsciousness and his torso wrapped in bandages. 

A sob catches in his throat. It’s not his happiness to have, not his moment, but there he is feeling it in his own chest while he watches copper eyes slowly blink open against the harsh lighting. Confusion is the first thing that registers on Noya’s face, a dazed misunderstanding of his surroundings; Kinoshita glances once at the nurse for permission before surging forward into the small recovery suite, his book abandoned somewhere along the way but fuck it, he’ll pay to buy the library a new copy. 

“Nishinoya,” he whispers, setting a careful hand against the other man’s forearm. It draws those eyes up to him, their brows knit as they try to parse out what they’re seeing. 

“Hisa...shi…” his voice comes out croaky and hoarse, but it still makes Kinoshita’s face split with a massive smile. 

“I’m here,” he promises, softly. 

Noya lifts a hand, one that is strong and steady and so, so familiar. One that Hisashi watched save their team hundreds - thousands, tens of thousands - of times. One that now, he takes without hesitation, feels the callouses against his palm and covers Nishinoya’s knuckles with his other hand. 

“You’re here...” Noya echoes and the haze in his sleepy eyes starts to disperse as he concentrates, searches his friend’s face like he’s doing math when he can’t remember how to long-divide. 

Kinoshita nods, curls his lips inward and presses them tight because he physically _cannot_ smile any wider. The barriers of his face won’t allow it. He can’t let himself cry but he feels the tears already anyways, pushing at the back of his eyes insistently. 

“What… day is it?” 

“It’s the fifth.” 

“It’s the… the fifth…” Noya furrows his brows thoughtfully, swimming through the anesthetic and searching for the surface. Kinoshita can only nod because he feels it coming, the surge of emotion, and he has to keep it back. 

“The fifth is my… my surgery…” 

“It is, yeah.” 

“My alarm didn’t… Am… am I late?” 

His smile gets bigger anyways, splits so far into his cheeks that a bystander could count all his teeth. “It already happened, bud,” he manages, his voice starting to shake, and he gives Nishinoya’s hand a squeeze. “You did it. It’s all done.” 

Realization dawns slowly, a wave washing over Noya’s face in stages. His brows relax first and his dry lips form a small, thoughtful ‘o’; they go up next, a slow-moving surprise that makes his mouth go slack. Finally, he glances down at himself, at the flat plane of his chest and the plastic tubing protruding from the bandages. 

At _the flat plane of his chest._

Nishinoya sucks in a sudden breath that catches in his throat. It turns into a shuddering sob, and then a laugh, and then the dam breaks. His eyebrows twist together and his eyes press shut, free hand reaching up to cover them; his lips furrow in the middle and curl up at the edges into an agonized sort of smile, so overwhelmed that it’s ugly. Kinoshita squeezes his hand and feels his own tears start rolling down his face (he made himself promise not to cry, but he knew even back then that he wasn’t going to manage that). 

“It’s all done,” Noya squeaks and then he pulls his hand down to cover his open-mouthed smile, tears pushing out of the corners of his eyes. “It’s-- It’s _me._ Hisashi, it’s _me,_ ” his voice comes out broken, soft and awed past his fingers. 

“It’s you,” Kinoshita agrees in a joyous whisper and reaches up to smooth a hand over Noya’s soft, unstyled hair. “It’s you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly cannot express how wonderful this fan week has been. It's my first time participating in one and I'm so overjoyed to have been a part of it. If any of my pieces brought you some joy, then I consider it an overwhelming success. Thank you so much for reading and being a part of this with me, and thank you to the event organizers for putting this together. It has been so incredible. 
> 
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! I am on [twitter](https://twitter.com/SystemicWrites) if u would like to join me.


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